


About Loss

by Gailleann



Series: Eltanin [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: I have no idea how to use tags, I use second person pov since I'm not capable of writing like a normal person, Introspection, One of my four characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gailleann/pseuds/Gailleann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distractly, innocently, you think of your father.<br/>He used to say that no door in life really closes, unless you want it to.<br/>You used to believe in that, once, when the only scars on your body were from playing in the fields and the only wrinkles on your face were from childish frowns and smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About Loss

**Author's Note:**

> It's really not much.  
> It's short, there are probably typos here and there, and it's kind of a mess.

###  About Loss

-You’re walking this World-

It was soon enough that you understood that sometimes, most of the times, people leave.

Sometimes they get up from this imaginary couch you like to think as your life, leave everything behind, and turn their back to you.

Sometimes they look at you one last time, pack their things and walk away, leaving nothing behind for you to cherish.

Sometimes they got dragged away.

You never really got which one is worse.   
All the scenarios left a feeling of emptiness, that gut feeling of something not belonging there, but at the same time of something being in its rightful place.

You were made of paradoxes.

If you had to be honest with yourself, and that couch was anything like your real life, it would probably be uncomfortable. A hard, thorny couch that smells like responsibilities you didn't want. And maybe, probably, blood and intestines.

 

Distractly, innocently, you think of your father, back to the time when the sky hadn’t burnt bright red with rage, and the world was still relatively uneventful and whole.

He used to say that no door in life really closes, unless you want it to.

You used to believe in that, once, when the only scars on your body were from playing in the fields and the only wrinkles on your face were from childish frowns and smiles.

But now you understand how much he was wrong, and life taught you that lesson the hard way.

Sometimes, you know, the only thing you can do is watch.

Helplessly staring at shapes drifting away, trying to commit to memory the details of faces you’ll never see again, voices whose ring you won’t hear anymore.

The doors are shut and locked, the key thrown into bottomless pits far from your reach.

 

You had wondered, once, if there was something wrong with you. Still wonder, at times.

There probably was. Probably still is.

 

Years passed since you learned your lessons, and you’re still you.

More closed doors, more scars here and there, more turned backs burned in your mind.

Older but none the wiser, a rock still too young to show the subtle effects of erosion.

But the changes were there, piling up, and the dyke was still holding, containing all the regrets and the words you left cowardly unsaid.

Curious, you ask yourself how much more you can take before imploding and shattering like a mirror, pieces scattered and all too broken to be put back together.

You ask yourself how strong you are, and how strong you need to be, but you don’t really find an answer. Maybe you can’t.

 

You still remember, back when Coerthas was a paradise of green and you used to enjoy the windy meadows under bare feet and the kisses of a cold sun on smooth tanned skin, your teacher used to give you small lessons, few words, that he hoped would stay with you and make you a better person.

He once said that everything mattered in life. 

In his eyes life was like a walk, one that required willpower and strength to be a long one.

The younger you grinned and scoffed, but the older, battle hardened you understands now, and can share his belief.

So you walked, year after year, quite a few crossroads left behind you, and more coming right ahead.

The ‘what if’s never really left.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you look back, like now, and think.

The road walked is short, but it feels like centuries long and leaves a heavy weight on your shoulder.

All the people you have met, those who have left, those who have been taken away, and those who are still there, still walking by your side. 

The road traveled, the side paths you took, the lefts and the rights. 

The answers you got and the corner of piled up unanswered questions.

 

You look at your reflection in water, and fail to recognise yourself, but it feels like you couldn’t be any different. It felt wrong and right all the same.

Tired eyes, sharper profile, burned skin on hard muscles.

You ask yourself how strong you are now, and how much stronger you will need to be.

Somehow, you’re satisfied.

That is, you think grinning, someone that’s walking this World.

There is still fire in you. You don’t know how, or why. There is no real rhyme or reason for it, but you were, incredibly, still up for a fight. 

You look at yourself and think you’re not done yet.

The land is whispering sweet promises in your ears while the dragons roar proud in the back of your mind.

And while you keep looking at turned backs becoming nothing but shades, unfocused and ghostly, you still move forward.

The snow is welcoming you home with a warm embrace, and your spear is a solid assurance on your straight back.

 

You’re not done walking just yet.

 

Laughing, you wonder if you will ever stop.


End file.
